WHAT AN EXPERIENCE!

WHAT AN EXPERIENCE!

The Boston Marathon, 19 April 2010 – Now only a memory, but what an experience!

First, I must sincerely thank so many people – family, friends, colleagues, and even a number of people whom I do not know personally – who made it possible for me to exceed my personal goal of raising $10,000 for the Dana-Farber Cancer Challenge in support of the Claudia Adams Barr Program in Innovative Basic Cancer Research. With contributions still coming in, my total is just over $10,800, well above the average raised by each team member, but more importantly one more step along the path to the ultimate goal – a world without cancer. The break-throughs that have resulted in improved treatment and cure rates, new medications, and basic understanding of so many aspects of the physiology of cancer as a result of Barr grants are impressive. For those of you interested in learning more, please go to a description of Barr Program dollars in action.

Another huge ‘Thank You’ goes to the staff and to the race day volunteers who were available to help DFMC Team members from the time we checked in on arriving in Boston until the last runner was off the course and checked back in to the Recovery Area at the Marriott after the race. They could not have been more helpful and accommodating throughout.

A very special and heartfelt ‘Thank You!’ goes to my Curb Crew, wife, Jule, daughter, Kenzie, and son-in-law Steve, who have supported me not only on marathon day but throughout the long months of training and fund-raising. It is their support, encouragement, and continuing love that have made this whole experience possible, and provided me with memories that I will last a lifetime. The photo was taken shortly after I had exited from the finishing chute – wearing my finisher’s medal, of course!

Jule and I made the drive to Boston an easy two day trip, staying overnight Friday in Sturbridge. Found a great Italian restaurant for dinner (great carbs!), and then a good night’s sleep. Saturday we headed for Hopkinton to drive the course route on in to Boston. My first impression was ‘the course is narrow!’ For the most part, especially including the starting grid, it is only a two lane road. Quite a contrast to the four or more lanes at the start of the other marathons I have done. But it is a pretty course, winding through a series of small New England towns and countryside with undulating terrain. It starts out with four miles of downhill – must remember to try to hold back and not go out too fast – a consistent warning we have been given by Coach Fultz and a number of others. Then it settles in to a more or less flat course with a continuous series of gentle rises and dips, nothing to cause any real concern. After mile 15, it drops down to the St. Charles River and loses 100-125 feet over about half a mile. Right after the river, we start up the first of the ‘Newton Hills.’ These consist of a series of three distinctly uphill climbs, each a few hundreds of yards (or maybe more) long, but followed by lightly rolling or relatively flat, generally slightly downhill, stretches. Then at mile 20.5, the infamous ‘Heartbreak Hill.’ To be honest, I was surprised at how innocuous this looked! I have been training each time out on a hill longer, and just as steep, as this one. But Heartbreak Hill comes just about the time that runners (and walkers) are approaching that legendary ‘wall.’ Once over the top, it is about three miles of gradual downhill followed by an almost flat several miles to the finish line on Boylston Street in downtown Boston. A nice drive. An easy drive. Let’s see if there is a difference when it is my own power that powers motion rather than an engine!

Once we checked in to the Marriott, which also serves as the Dana-Farber Team Headquarters, I registered with them. This gave me my first opportunity to meet a very enthusiastic and supportive crew that clearly wanted to take all of the worries and cares off their Team members. I was at last able to put faces with names of people with whom I had spoken on the phone or exchanged e-mails. The first one I met was the voice at the other end of the phone last October when I was ‘interviewed’ by a Board Member as a part of the application process. Nice to be able to thank her in person for whatever role she may have played in my selection for the team. Also met Arin, a voice I had come to know well over the months, and the source of so many answers to e-mailed questions. There were a couple of pleasant surprises as well. I found out that I had won two DFMC Cheering Shirts as a result of my fundraising during March (Kenzie and Jule wore those on Monday), and a backpack for surpassing the $10,000 level. And, as a cancer survivor myself, I was given a silver star to put on a ‘Living Proof’ sign that eventually had stars for all team members who are survivors. This turned up again at the Pasta Party Sunday and again on Monday morning in Hopkinton at the team photo session.

Then it was over to the Hynes Convention Center to pick up my bib, timing chip, and the shirt that all registrants receive. And on to the Expo, which took up most of the facility. There was one souvenir that I had long ago decided to get – a Boston Marathon 2010 jacket. Wish I had stock in Addidas that day! They, along with a whole lot of other items, were selling very briskly. I wear it with great pride now, but it was put away and into my gear bag not to be worn until I had really earned it by crossing the finish line on Monday. After a couple of hours over there, we headed back to the hotel (only a couple of blocks away, and all connected by skywalks and indoor malls), as Kenzie and Steve were flying in from Chicago to join Jule as my Curb Crew for the race, and planning to meet us mid-afternoon.

Shortly after they checked in to their B&B, only a couple of blocks away, they arrived at our room, and after a short visit we headed down to meet Lisa, a friend from Kenzie’s high school days. She drove us to their home in Needham for a visit, and another high carb dinner, with her family. Her husband, Allen, hopes to qualify for Boston, maybe next year.

Sunday Jule and I headed back over to the Expo – turns out we had missed half of it. I was looking for wrist bands giving mile time splits, by estimated finish time – a very useful band to have along the way to help gauge progress and pace, and found them immediately. Wandered quickly around the balance of the Expo, gathering a number of free samples (some that I would put into the category of junk food, which surprised me), and back to the hotel to minimize time on my feet. On the way back, we met friends from State College, much to our surprise. Grandpa had done the 5K in the morning, and two sons were going to do the marathon the next day.

Dana-Farber has a Pasta Party for its Team, and guests of team members, Sunday afternoon, followed by a short program that brings home the reason that we are all members of this Team unless one has a heart of stone. Patient-Partners, children who are facing the challenges of pediatric cancer of one kind or another, and their runner Partners were introduced. There was also a remembrance of In-Memory Partners, those who have lost their ultimate battle to the scourge of cancer. A few special speakers addressed us with short but motivational talks – Uta Pippig, a three-time women’s Boston Marathon champion, and our ‘celebrity’ teammate this year, Valerie Bertinelli (who, by the way, beat me by about 10 minutes). We also heard from Dana-Farber officials and the founder of the Claudia Adams Barr Program in Innovative Basic Cancer Research, the fund for which I have worked so hard to support. Quite honestly, I was amazed by just how much progress, spectacular at times, has been made utilizing the dollars raised over the years by the Team and follow-on grants that would not have been awarded absent the results generated by Barr-funded seed grants. Jack Fultz, our Coach (and the winner of the 1976 Boston Marathon) wound up the program with a short but inspirational pep talk. It was a pleasure to meet Jack in person after indirect contact throughout the training period. By about 5:30, we were finished, allowing lots of time to chill out, be sure that all of our gear was ready for the morning, that our gear bags had everything we would need at the finish line, and then an opportunity to get to bed early in preparation for a long and very exciting Marathon Day. We walked over to the B&B where Kenzie and Steve were staying, just a couple of blocks away from the hotel and not only very convenient but also very nice. This was really our first chance to simply relax and visit since we had all arrived in Boston. But with an early wake-up for me the next day, we didn’t stay too late.

As one who has never liked to get up early, the alarm sounding at 4:45 a.m. Monday was a jolt. Before assembling with the rest of the team at 5:45 to walk the half mile or so to the busses for transportation to Hopkinton, I had to eat and dress. (Glad that everything was laid out the night before, as I don’t think all that well at such an early hour!) The day was brisk, but only a good breeze and no rain. A steady stream of school busses pulled up at Boston Common to transport all participants to the Athlete’s Village in Hopkinton, a ride of a little over an hour. Once at the Village, the Dana-Farber Team members walked the half mile or so to our exclusive ‘refuge,’ a parish house less than ¼ mile from the starting grid. There we could relax, grab some Gatorade, bagels, bananas, and other fuel as we wished, have access to ‘facilities’ without having to stand in long lines, and chat with other Team members. There was a Team photo taken (actually a number of them). Because I know where I was standing, I can identify myself among the over 500 members. There were also photos of ‘Living Proof’ Team members in front of the whole team – again an emotional experience knowing that in addition to all of those who had supported me by supporting Dana-Farber, there was a whole team of fellow marathoners who also supported my efforts.

The Marathon is started in two waves: the elite runners and those with qualifying times under about 3:35 (the top 14,000 entrants) started at 10:00, and the rest of us at 10:30. A team of 18 runners from the State College area was running in support of Centre Volunteers In Medicine (CVIM). This is a clinic providing medical and dental care to those in the local area who are uninsured – and there is an amazingly large number of them in our supposedly well-to-do University town and surrounding area. Some of them were in Wave 1, so I headed to the starting grid to wish them well as they left. The Mayor of Marathon, Greece, was holding a torch at the Start Line to salute all of the competitors since this year is the 2,500th anniversary of the original ‘marathon’ run in Greece. Of course, by now the air was full of excitement. The magical day for which I had trained over the last 18 weeks had finally arrived, and I was within minutes of beginning my own long walk. Even with 14,000 runners moving out in a solid pack, I was able to spot and give a shout-out to a number of CVIM runners. (All of them, by the way, qualify for Boston based on a previous Marathon time. I would love to be a member of that team, but would have to do a 4:30 marathon at my age to qualify. That’s just faster than my little legs can walk!)

Once Wave 1 was off, I had to find my place on the grid (according to bib number), and rejoined many of the Dana-Farber Team members. About half of the Team qualified based on times, so many started in Wave 1 and many more much closer to the front of Wave 2. I always find an indescribable excitement as gun time nears. Even though the sky was blue and with few clouds (a big improvement over predictions from only a day or two earlier), the temperature was still only about 45o. So minutes before the start it was time to remove and discard the sweat shirt and sweat pants that I had been wearing to stay comfortable. (As with most marathons, all this discarded clothing is immediately gathered by volunteers and donated to appropriate charities in the area.)

I had added three photos to the front of my Team singlet. One was In Memory of my long-time friend and colleague, Paul, who lost his battle with cancer in January (see my blog dated January 19). Two were In Honor of special people: one is my teenage grand-niece, Angela, who went through a year of challenging treatments as she battled lymphoma and is now in remission, has been for over two years, and will graduate from high school this spring; the second is our neighbor, David, who continues to fight a glioblastoma, is doing much better than most had expected six months ago, but still has severe challenges ahead of him. A glance at those photos just before the gun was far more powerful and emotional than I had ever expected that it would be. Once again, I knew that my challenge, while real, was surmountable and transient. Their battles have been far more challenging and, especially in David’s case, continuing. At the same time, there was a true pride in having been the vehicle through which much-needed funds were generated to support the on-going needs of cancer research and treatment.

And finally, the gun! Maybe for those in the front line of Wave 2 the call of ‘they’re off!’ would be appropriate, but for those around me it was the beginning of a slow but steady shuffle, first to close up the pack (out of excitement, nervousness, an alternative to standing still – I really don’t know why we seem to want to jam together), and gradually to increase speed as those ahead really do move out. By the time I hit the start line, about 6 ½ minutes after the gun fired, and started my own watch, I was perhaps up to ¾ speed – and remember that I am walking! But we were underway. I really was living a dream – participating in the oldest Marathon race of them all – Boston’s 114th consecutive running. Not bad for someone my age!

We had been warned not to go out too fast and burn ourselves out, and with good reason. The first half mile or so is really quite a drop – almost 150 feet over that short distance. I thought I was doing fairly well in holding myself back, with hundreds of runners passing me, until I reached the Mile 1 marker, glanced at my watch, and was appalled to see that my time was just under 11 minutes for that first mile! At the best of times, I am at a pace of 11:25 – 11:45 over distances of a couple of miles. Must be something about adrenaline! I immediately slowed down, but it was not easy to do, and took a conscious effort to cut back to a pace that would leave me the necessary energy to complete the last half dozen miles that lay way down the road. By the 5K timing mat, I was averaging a pace of 11:13/mile – still much too fast. So another gearing down and I was back closer to the pace I should have of just about a 12 minute mile for the next 5K segment. I managed to keep a pretty steady pace through the next ten miles, when we hit the first of the Newton Hills. These, and Heartbreak Hill, slowed me down to a pace of about 12:50 – 13:00 for the next 10K as I took all four of these challenges in stride, but at a time cost much higher than it should have been. Unfortunately, by the time I crested Heartbreak Hill, I didn’t have that many reserves to draw upon, and the next 5K was my slowest interval in the entire race – only a 13:12 pace per mile. I was able to pick it up a bit in the final 1.4 miles and get back a little under a 13:00 minute pace; doubtless the appearance of the Finish Line as we turned on to Boylston Street and could see the end about 4/10 of a mile down the street contributed to that ‘burst’ of speed at the end!

I have to admit that it was a real thrill to hear the course announcer say, for all to hear, ‘From State College, Pennsylvania, Alan Cameron’ as I approached the Finish Line. I had done it! I was still smiling. I was elated, but I was exhausted.

These last few paragraphs have been more of the ‘technical’ aspects of the run. Let me drop back to the ‘personal’ things – the remembrances that make it all so special. It probably took at least a half mile after I crossed the starting line before the excitement and full-body tingling started to settle down. From the beginning, people started to pass me, which I fully expected. It seemed that I was continually wishing my fellow Dana-Farber teammates a good race as they pulled ahead – people I had met only in the last couple of days, but people with the same goals and motivations that I had. The enthusiasm of the crowds along the sides was certainly contagious. Bless them! They were there for all of us even though they knew, and we knew, that we were only participants and not competitors. Very quickly I became aware of the obvious respect that Dana-Farber commands in the area for its work. Cries of ‘Go Dana-Farber!’ [or perhaps more accurately ‘Go, Dana-Fahbah’ in a broad New England accent] rang out as we, and later into the race when I was no longer with a group of Dana-Farber runners but ‘alone,’ rang out with astounding frequency. I had put my name on the front of my singlet, and more times than I could count I heard a chant of ‘A-lan! A-lan!’ coming from one, a few, or a crowd of spectators. Crowd estimates seemed to be in the 500,000 plus range, and I doubt that there was an interval of 100 feet anywhere along the way that there were no supporters. Remember, I was well towards the back of the pack, and they were still there as I passed by, and as enthusiastic as they could be.

I was glad to see the clouds move in not long after we were underway, as that helps to keep conditions cooler. The tree-lined two-lane road would also have provided a little shade, although leaves were still just beginning to enlarge. We did have a breeze, but since it was from the side or behind, at least early in the race, it really wasn’t a factor. Kenzie and Steve had spent literally hours plotting my anticipated pace, and relating that to commuter train and T stops near the course. With Lisa and Allen’s knowledge of the area, they came up with a plan where they expected to see me four times along the way. (This is outstanding; conventional wisdom indicates that, if you see a runner twice, you can consider yourself lucky.) The first ‘meeting place’ was at the Framingham commuter rail station, alongside the course, and about 6.6 miles (1:15 – 1:20 into the race). The down side was that the train they had to catch from downtown got them there at 9:30; I wasn’t scheduled to come by until about 11:50. So they were there in lots of time to see the wheelchair athletes and the elite men and women pass. Wheelchair athletes started at 9:17; elite women at 9:32, and elite men and Wave 1 at 10:00. Sure enough, as the station appeared in my sight, I spotted Jule’s white hair and her red jacket along with Kenzie in her reddish-pink Chicago Marathon jacket and Steve (the photographer!) waiting for my arrival. My first really personal pick-me-up. Unfortunately, I had picked up a (very) small stone in my shoe and it was bothering me. Had I had only a few miles to go, I would have ignored it. But with 20 miles still ahead I knew that it had to be removed. So after quick hugs and words of encouragement, I had to untie and remove the shoe, and put it back on and retie it. Probably right then I lost my chance to set a personal record! But at least I was comfortable when I got underway again.

As I left my Curb Crew, I knew that I wouldn’t be seeing them again for almost 8 miles. I had settled into a comfortable pace; the road had a few gentle turns and rises and falls, and by the time we were approaching Natick we started to climb at a gentle but continuous rate for the next several miles. We also ran into a very brief sprinkle that, fortunately, didn’t last and really didn’t even wet us down at all. But with it we also had a wind shift (or the course turned but I don’t remember that), and suddenly we were headed straight into a pretty good headwind. Again we were lucky, and this didn’t last for more than ten minutes or so and we were back to more pleasant conditions. As we approached Wellesley, I noticed a sign warning us to prepare our ears for very loud noise. The Wellesley Women line both sides of the course as we pass through their campus, and I really had no idea how noisy a few thousand screaming ‘young ladies’ can be! Almost all of them were carrying signs saying, ‘Kiss Me!’ My favorite sign was ‘Kiss Me, I’m a Nerd;’ I blew her a kiss since she really looked like she needed one. A few of the girls had takers, but most seemed content with high fives (and I learned quickly that I had to keep a limp hand and try to make minimal contact if I was to survive their enthusiasm). By now we were just short of the half way point, so the field had thinned considerably. But still the enthusiasm was unabated. It was also about here that I began to hear the chants of A-lan; surprising how something as simple as this, from complete strangers, can give you a lift.

On my back, I had ’71 AND STILL GOIN.’’ (I had done this in the Ottawa Marathon a year ago, and found it to be positive. Seems I am not above any trick that may help to motivate me to get to the finish.) As I noted, folks were passing me from the start, and once again the comments from my fellow participants were supportive, encouraging, and at times clearly of admiration for what an ‘old man’ was doing. Guess to the often very attractive 20- and 30-something young ladies I must have appeared to be a fossil. More interesting this time, though, were comments from others who said they are also 71 (or 72 or 73…) who shared encouraging comments, fell in stride for a while to chat, and generally did their part to help me to the finish line.

I was aware that there were still lots of people passing me – many more than I thought had started behind me. And about this point I also realized that many of these did not have an official number. In comparing notes with family afterwards, they all commented on the numbers of people ‘in the race’ who didn’t have bibs. I had heard that the whole charity program began 20-25 years ago to try to discourage ‘bandits’ (non-registrants) and turn it into something positive. Obviously part of the goal was achieved. This year the charity teams collectively exceeded the $100 million plateau in money raised since this feature began (and Dana-Farber has been responsible for about $47-48 million of this total). But it appears that the ‘bandit’ tradition must be firmly entrenched. A marathon course is not one that can easily be policed and, as long as they don’t interfere with the registered runners (and for the most part they really didn’t from what I saw), it is one of those things that wouldn’t rise to a high priority level on my charts – as long as there is the fluid supply participants need right on to the end. Boston is a marathon where one must qualify by meeting an age-based time standard in a previous marathon to gain entry, except for those issued an Invitational Bib (which is what I had – I would have to have done a 4:30 marathon at my age, and my best has been 5:22:53), and as in most marathons the number of participants is capped, so the more casual runner is denied official entry.

Beyond Wellesley College, we passed through the town, and this was scheduled to be my second Curb Crew sighting. This time, not only was it family, but Lisa and her daughters Annike (6) and Lia (3) were also there enthusiastically cheering as I approached for another set of hugs all round. They had met the family, by prearrangement, and even brought a picnic lunch for all (by the time I got there it was about 1:15 p.m.; while my Crew had granola bars to tide them over for the day, they didn’t carry real food so this was especially nice of Lisa). Again, the familiar faces are a real boost, and they were tolerant of hugs from, by that time, someone who had to be getting just a bit ‘moist!’ Lisa then took them another 8 miles down the course – a move that really couldn’t be made relying only on the T – to position them at the next predetermined cheering site.

The course continued for several miles of terrain that again was slightly rolling until we approached the Charles River valley and dropped down to cross the bridge. And just a little beyond this we encountered the first of the Newton Hills right after the Firehouse turn. This first one seemed to be the longest one, but again really no worse than my training at home. It was about this point, sixteen miles into the race, that I noticed that I was starting to pass more and more people. As a walker, I don’t make up time on downhills as I can’t really lengthen my stride as a runner can, but at the same time I don’t lose all that much on the uphills as I just continue to chug along. Numbers of runners were walking the hills, and not at all at a power walk pace, so I gained positions – maybe that’s good for the ego!

Somewhere around mile 17 or 18, another walker fell in stride with me, having caught up to me, and we started chatting. We were mentioning other marathons we had done (he has done quite a few), and I mentioned Ottawa last year. He said he did that one too. I asked him how he had done, and he said he was the first male walker in. My response – ‘you are one of the two who beat me up there!’ He had beaten me by about 10 minutes. His wife had passed me much earlier in the race. I had noticed a true race walking participant motoring along beautifully and mentioned her shirt color; he confirmed her identity. It turns out that she is a race walking coach, and was the first walking woman to finish in Ottawa – about 16 min ahead of Jim. (She also beat him in Boston by 12 minutes.) Anyway, we stayed stride for stride until we were on Boylston Street with the Finish Line in sight. At that point, I encouraged him to move out if he wished (I was really tired by then, and knew he had more energy left than I did) and thanked him for having stayed with me for so long. Slowly he did move ahead, crossed the finish line maybe 5 - 10 seconds ahead of me, but waited to congratulate me as soon as I crossed the line. (These are the bonuses one treasures at the individual level.) For me, he was a godsend especially during the last couple of miles as the sun was back out, I was feeling the distance, and simply his presence and our conversation played a large part in helping me to maintain my pace – slowed down though it was by then.

The three Newton Hills appeared over the next couple of miles, each one followed by more or less flat to slightly rolling terrain, and just after mile 20 we reached Heartbreak Hill. I know that we passed quite a number of people as we walked up Heartbreak. Most of the participants I saw as I navigated the hill were walking rather than running. Apparently they let the Hill do things to their minds that I refused to let it do to mine. In truth, it was probably the least challenging of all as far as terrain goes, but as the fourth hill in four miles, having climbed cumulatively about 200 feet in elevation from the river, and having almost 21 miles behind us, it certainly wasn’t a piece of cake! Not long after that the route passed through Boston College, and by this time of day there were lots of students out ‘celebrating.’ Just as at Penn State, any excuse is a good excuse for a beer – or two. I must say that it was much more pleasant to run through the Wellesley students than the B.C. ones. At least the girls were very actively cheering the marathoners.

Mile 22.4 was the next scheduled appearance for my Curb Crew, and sure enough they were on site – maybe a little bit further along the route than what I had expected, but by then I was certainly losing some alertness and close monitoring of distances. (Each mile is marked; intervals are by guess.) They had moved closer to a T station so they could hop on the next tram passing after they saw me. Hugs again, along with, as I found out later, yet another thorough ‘evaluation’ of how I looked by Kenzie; apparently she still thought I looked pretty good even then. The hugs were quicker, but Jim slowed enough that I didn’t have to push hard to catch up again – a very much appreciated gesture. Along this stretch we started to lose elevation for several miles, so should have been able to pick up the pace. But over the next 5K my pace slowed by about 13 seconds/mile, down to a little over 13 minutes. The sun was back out; temperatures, while still quite comfortable, were rising into the mid to upper 50’s, and with hindsight the continuing breezes masked my awareness of just how much I must have been sweating. I continued to follow my pre-determined pattern of taking Gatorade at every second mile, planning to take more than what I am used to at 1 ½ mile intervals to compensate for the fewer intakes. Again, with hindsight, I suspect that I didn’t take on as much as I should have, and that contributed to my overall condition – that, and over 20 miles and 4 ½ hours of continuous power walking!

I knew I had one more planned sighting of my Curb Crew around mile 25, and sure enough there they were. By that time all of us were feeling a mixture of excitement that the finish was nearing, but that it had been a long day. Jule, Kenzie and Steve amazed me with the way they had organized their spots, and even more impressively, they were where they said they would be when I came along. The support of hundreds of thousands of spectators is not to be discounted in any way. But the special thrill of seeing family along the way simply can’t be described adequately. I know I was working hard. But I know also that their day was almost as exhausting as was mine. There are not enough ‘thank you’s’ to express my gratitude for their efforts. Again some quick hugs (by now I had realized that my hope of yet another personal record was no longer realistic, but I still wanted to finish as quickly as I could) and back on the course.

Mile 25 is also where Dana-Farber Patient Partners, doctors, nurses, many family members, and others traditionally gather for that one last enthusiastic push to keep us moving to the end. Especially through that area, the Dana-Farber singlet brought out cheers and words of encouragement that was very meaningful. But I had a surprise ahead of me yet. ‘Somewhere’ further along the way, my Crew appeared for an unscheduled fifth time! The tram line ran along beside the road and they saw (and photographed) me as they passed, so they hopped off at the next stop once again to cheer me on. Looking at the photo they took, it is obvious that my shoulders were sinking, my head was forward, and to be honest, I looked more like a tired old man than a marathoner! And I think that’s about the way I felt then, too. No hugs at the fifth spot, as Jim and I were towards the opposite side of the street and, by the time I saw them, I would have had to cut directly across the street in the path of other runners (none of whom were really moving all that fast by then). As I look at my pace over the last 1 1/3 miles, I actually picked it up by about 15 seconds/mile, so that last round of encouragement worked some magic. By then the great big Citgo sign was looming ahead of us, and everyone knows that by the time you see that you are within a mile of home. I had seen the Mile 25 marker, and expected to see a series of markers saying 1 mile to go, ¾ mile to go… but I never did see even the Mile 26 marker. Perhaps by then someone had collected a souvenir.

That last mile was tough. Not for the first time during the race, but certainly in what turned out to be the most emotional time, actually drawing a few tears, I again looked down at the photos on my singlet. Strength, inspiration, and encouragement poured back, and I knew that we had succeeded; the end of the race was not that far off. After taking first a right turn then a couple of short blocks later a left turn onto Boylston Street, the Finish Line was in sight! Remember that this is almost four hours after the winner had crossed the line (by the way, a course record was set – 2:05:52 by yet another Kenyan), and the sides of the streets were still several people deep behind the barricades lining the course. As I always do for the last 50-75 yards, I took off my visor (so the photographers can get a better photo of me!), and I thrust my arm into the air when I heard those magic words, ‘From State College, Pennsylvania, Alan Cameron.’ By the time I crossed the timing mat, both fists were pumping in exhilaration, mixed with exhaustion. My official (chip) time was 5 hours, 24 minutes, 47 seconds, a pace of 12:24/mile. This was less than 2 minutes slower than my personal record for a Marathon. I was tired, but elated, as I crossed the finish line.

I can truly say that I left all that I had on the course, as I wasn’t 10 yards beyond the finish when my legs just turned to rubber. But there was still a not inconsiderable distance to go. Moving along Boylston, we were able to pick up water and Gatorade, then we found some food – bagels, bananas – before reaching the area where they handed out Mylar heatsheats (which were much appreciated because by then, without continuing exertion, I was starting to cool down) and eventually the medal. Needless to say, that I proudly put around my neck! Then we had to find the school bus that had our gear, transported in from Hopkinton. The Dana-Farber bus was the only white school bus – just one more of those ‘little’ things that really make a difference – and a volunteer not only had my bag available as I approached, but pulled out the yellow poncho provided by Dana-Farber to identify their runners among all the others wrapped in their Mylar sheets so we could be easily spotted. I then had to find my way to the exit area where I was met immediately on exit by another volunteer who turned out to be a real angel. The family was to meet me by prearrangement (they hadn’t been at the Finish Line, as they were still walking in from the last spot along the course) under the ‘C’ [Cameron!] near the exit, but they weren’t there. By this time I had covered another half mile, wobbling some of the way on rubber legs. After a few minutes, I asked the young lady if she had a cell phone, and she dialed Steve’s number for me. Turns out they had taken a wrong turn along the way which took them a couple of blocks out of the way, but they were almost there. Steve took a photo with his I-Phone, and sent out an e-mail with photo to family and a few friends around the country and Canada – e-mail addresses that he had in his phone – and the volunteer took a photo of the four of us. Then she led us back to the Marriott where Dana-Farber had a Runner Recovery Area on the third floor (runners only – food, some beverages, and an optional massage!). This was another 4/10 mile to walk. My legs were starting to feel a little more stable, but I sure was glad that I didn’t have to power-walk it!

When I went to the Recovery Area, the rest of them went to the Dana-Farber Family Meeting Area on the fourth floor where I expected to meet them after a while. But a massage was in order first. As I stretched out on the table, the fellow started on my feet and worked slowly and thoroughly up my whole body, then after I turned over he repeated it on the ‘other side.’ My legs were starting to twitch a bit, and after a while I had four people working me over! For quite a while – perhaps 15 minutes or so – all two of them did was keep gentle pressure on my calves to try to quiet them down. I didn’t time it, but by the time they were finished I had been on the table for pretty close to an hour. Because I knew I had worked a blister between a couple of toes on my right foot, I said I wanted to drop into the medical area to get a Band-Aid. A couple of the girls walked me over, and must have given the high sign to the nurse and doctor on duty as they later told me I hadn’t been very steady. So they suggested that I lay down on one of their cots for a while, checked my vitals (by then my heart was down a little below 60, but blood pressure was, for me, slightly elevated at 120/82 or something like that). They brought me some more fluids, and when I started to get chilled, put covers over me. And all I wanted was a Band-Aid! After maybe another 15-20 minutes, they decided I could go. I got one shoe on, but as I was putting the second one on my calf cramped like I have never had it do before. I let out a yelp, and immediately there were two or three people massaging the calf trying to release the cramp. When it finally relaxed, I thought I had died and gone to heaven! About that time Jule came in. The kids had left as they had to get back to their place to clean up and change, and I think someone may have gone upstairs to let them know I was OK but needed a bit of attention. Shortly after that, I was up and walking – to get some food that I had not had earlier, and some more fluids that were available in the Recovery Area.

Again hindsight is wonderful. I probably had lost more fluids, and salt, than I had realized with the breeze evaporating away sweat as soon as it appeared. And as I noted earlier, I suspect that I may also have been a bit light on quantities of Gatorade consumed along the way because of the different availability from previous races.

We headed up to the room (also in the Marriott – glad we were there) and got cleaned up as the kids had made reservations for dinner at Le Mistral, a French restaurant, for 8:00 p.m. It was just over a half mile away, and by then the walk, although it was still a little slow, really felt good. They ordered a celebratory bottle of bubbly to begin the meal, and we thoroughly enjoyed excellent food and a bottle of fine wine as we dined in a most civilized way. It took us all back to the two-hour meals we enjoyed during our sabbatical year in Montpellier. Good food, good drink, good company, good conversation, and in a relaxed and very pleasant place. My only complaint was that they served American-sized portions, not European-sized, and I was embarrassed (as were all others, I think) not to be able to finish all that was on my plate.

Back to the hotel again, and after a day I will never forget for so many reasons, it was time to turn in and get a good night’s sleep – which I had no trouble doing. We all slept in on Tuesday, and they came over to meet us for a cup of coffee about 11:00. Again a relaxing hour and a half or so before we packed up the van to start home. Kenzie and Steve wanted to wander around a little before they had to head to the airport at around 2:00. Our plan was to drive part way home and complete the trip Wednesday. But the day was good, traffic light, and we both felt fine. Stopped for dinner along the way, but we arrived home about 9:00 p.m. The end of an adventure like none I have ever experienced previously.

A final thought. I have done three marathons previously. Chicago was my first, in 2005, with Kenzie (also doing her first – and so far only – marathon) jogging at my side the entire way after having crossed the start line hand in hand. The special thrill of crossing the finish line, with our hands linked above our heads, is one that cannot be duplicated. Kenzie turned up as a surprise to me to help Jule cheer me along the Twin Cities Marathon in Mineapolis-St. Paul in 2008, in cold, rainy, miserable weather. One of my brothers saw that Jule got to a number of cheering points along the Ottawa Marathon route in 2009, where for the third consecutive marathon I set a new personal record. Each of these marathons has its share of special memories.

This year, not only did I have a chance to participate in the Boston Marathon, the granddaddy of all marathons, but I took on the responsibility of raising money for a cause. As time progressed, I was overwhelmed by the support and encouragement that so many people provided. At the same time, I became much more acutely aware of just what a devastating disease cancer is. The dynamics of the entire experience, from the first tentative requests for financial support to the race itself with an array of emotions I had never before felt under race circumstances, has left me with a sense of accomplishment that I have not felt after previous marathons. And it has changed my attitudes toward some things in ways that I think are for the better.

I didn’t set a new personal record in Boston, but it was still the second-fastest marathon I have done. That doesn’t really say a whole lot, though, as the time difference between my slowest (Chicago, my first) and my fastest (Ottawa) is only 5 minutes 15 seconds. I guess I do have a ‘pace’ that, even with a few more years under my belt, seems to be my marathon pace. When and where will the next one be? I have no idea, but I am confident that there will be more. The running community, and especially that part of it that I have experienced toward the rear of the pack, is made up of a whole lot of interesting, supportive, and genuinely nice people. To be able to associate with them is a privilege.